


One Wing, Two Wings, Red Wings, Blue Wings

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Featheruary Prompts 2020 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Soulmates, Stiles Is Not Having Anyone's Bullshit, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: Stiles hadn't really considered that he might have two soulmates, much less that he would be kidnapped by both of them independently in a single night.He'd always heard that relationships are work, but this seems like a bit much.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Featheruary Prompts 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627549
Comments: 58
Kudos: 1569





	One Wing, Two Wings, Red Wings, Blue Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by @amberlilly on tumblr!
> 
> "Everyone is born with wings, but they are transparent and non-corporeal. They only become physical when you meet your soulmate."
> 
> Hey! If you're reading this on a paid subscription app, did you know that you can read it for free on archiveofourown.org? You can search for my username or the story title. I write these for free, to be read for free, and any app developers who profit off the back of that should know that deepthroating the boot of capitalism comes with an increased risk of guillotine related illness. They do not have my permission to host this story.

It wasn’t the worst night of Stiles’ life. Maybe not even the second worst. Definitely at least third. Second or third worst night, probably. 

But of all the ways for his first, and now likely only, date with Lydia to end, her getting chomped by a murder-crazy werewolf was _definitely_ the worst. Or at least, that’s what he’d thought, until the werewolf touched him under the chin. 

Stiles froze at the claw on his skin, heartbeat ratcheting up with fear even as he fought the instinct to slap his hand away and yell about personal space. Then he felt a weight at his back. 

The Alpha suddenly lurched backward slightly too, jerking his hand away to reach behind himself. Stiles’ eyes widened when he saw a huge, pure white, feathery wing stretched out behind the werewolf. Frantically, he felt behind himself, grasping a much longer, more delicate wing; a sheer iridescent membrane stretched over a craquelure pattern. Something wasn’t right though, something-

He looked at the Alpha again. 

At the stretched out wing. Singular, o _ne_ wing. 

Hand trembling, Stiles felt around the other side of his back. 

Empty. 

The two stared at each other for a moment. 

“What the fuck,” Stiles breathed out. 

The Alpha’s grip tightened on the feathers, and then he shoved them behind himself with a growl.

The wings, though world shattering for Stiles, barely put a hitch in Peter’s stride. He allowed Stiles to call an ambulance for Lydia, and then continued to do everything Stiles assumed a revenge obsessed werewolf would do anyway. 

The only hesitation came when Peter offered him the bite. 

“We’re meant for each other, Stiles. I could give this to you. You could be faster, and heal from nearly anything,” he purred out, bringing the wrist closer. 

Stiles watched him move, listening to the words with his mouth open. Not because he was spellbound by the promises, but because as soon as Peter had touched his skin again, he’d felt the push of a soulbond. Warm and beating steadily. Nothing forceful or intrusive, but noticeable just the same. 

“You feel it already, don’t you? Our bond. It could be stronger. It could be so much stronger, Stiles,” Peter continued, lips nearly pressed against his skin now. 

Ice pierced through Stiles, anger suddenly flowing through him. 

_It could be so much stronger._ As if the strength of a soulbond depended on him becoming a werewolf, rather than on dedication to a partner. As if his human parents hadn’t had the strongest soulbond Stiles had ever seen. 

He would not be manipulated. 

“No.”

Surprise flit across Peter’s face as Stiles yanked away his wrist, followed quickly by hurt before his expression turned to stone. An aching pang shot through Stiles at having caused it, but he refused to regret it. 

“Fine,” Peter said. “I’ll find you after this. We have some things to discuss. In the meantime…” 

Stiles watched his soulmate drive away, crushed keys at his feet and a single wing fluttering at his back. 

* * *

One exhausting run to the hospital later, the sheriff couldn’t seem to stop looking over Stiles’ shoulder- so much so that he wasn’t listening. 

“Dad. Dad! This is important!” Stiles insisted. 

“Sorry-” he apologized, still distracted. “Just- did that happen at the dance? Where’s the other one?” 

Stiles ran a hand over his face. 

“I feel like there are a few more important things happening right now,” he said, trying very hard not to yell. That finally got his dad’s attention. Not that it was any use to Stiles anyway. He still ended up alone in the hallway of the hospital, watching him walk away. 

Of course, he wasn’t alone for very long. 

There was a very good chance that if these hunters didn’t kill Jackson, then Stiles would. Assuming, of course, that they also didn’t kill Stiles. Something that seemed less likely as one of the goons tossed them both into an empty surgery, Chris Argent locking the door after he joined them. 

Stiles scrambled a little against the gurney and Jackson, still unbalanced with the lopsided weight of one brand new wing hanging off his shoulder. He’d just barely gotten his feet under him when he felt a fist gather his shirt and yank him up, spinning him around and pinning him to the wall. 

He had a moment to see Argent’s face before the man’s hand brushed the skin on Stiles’ neck, beginning to say “Let me ask you a ques-” 

Before he could finish, he cut himself off with a gasp, one Stiles found himself echoing a second later. 

The uneven weight on his back suddenly balanced. He could feel a second gossamer wing brushing his skin, fluttering against the wall. 

Perhaps it was because he was younger. Perhaps it was because he’d already been through this once tonight. For whatever reason, Stiles recovered much more quickly than Chris. 

He kneed Argent in the gut and yanked the man’s pinky off it’s plate. He scrambled away as soon as he was released, shuddering from the now-familiar feeling of a surging soulbond. With a bit of space between them, he could finally see that yes, Chris had a wing, a single wing, extended from his back, frantically flapping as the hunter stood there in shock. It was a matte black moth’s wing, buffeting the air and sending surgical equipment flying. 

No one approached Stiles, but the goons remained in front of the locked door. There was still no escape, and Jackson was useless to the situation, just watching it play out with a gobsmacked expression. 

Stiles silently snatched a scalpel that had fallen to the floor, keeping an eye on Chris as he examined the wing with a stunned look; keeping an eye on the confusion that crept across his face when he realized that there was just one wing. 

“Where’s-”

“I really don’t think you want to hear the answer to that,” Stiles interrupted, voice low. 

Chris clenched his jaw and straightened, staring at him, clearly considering his options. 

“You-”

He stopped, running a hand over his face, briefly touching his wing again. He looked at the other hunters, and then Jackson. 

“Get this one out of here,” he barked at the hunters. “Explain what will happen to him if he goes outside again tonight.” 

They obeyed without question, and Stiles wondered exactly what kind of weight Chris’ name held.

As soon as the door was locked again behind them, Chris turned to look at him again with a sigh, shoulder slightly hunched. 

“This is… not how I imagined this would happen. _If_ it ever happened,” he said, shrugging the single wing again, a hint of bafflement to his expression. “But there are things happening tonight, Stiles. It’s important-”

“I know exactly what’s happening, and I’m not telling you where Scott is,” Stiles said flatly. “I’ve known you for all of five minutes, four of which you spent throwing me around.”

“You don’t understand, Stiles,” Chris grit out. “We hunters have to maintain the safety of humans like us. I swear to you, you’ll understand once I can teach you-”

“I’m sorry, _what?”_ Stiles blurted out. 

“It takes time to explain everything about the hunter’s code, but right now Scott is out there-”

“No no,” Stiles interrupted again. “Are you saying you expect me to become a hunter?” he asked, incredulous. 

“Once you’re in the know as a human, it’s the only way to stay safe,” Chris said gravely. 

“Oh _fuck you,”_ Stiles said vehemently, turning away to stalk around the surgery. “Fuck _both of you,_ I can’t believe I have two soulmates and both of them think they get to decide who I’m going to be!”

_“Two-”_

“I already know about your stupid code!” Stiles continued to rant, ignoring Chris as he stormed around, glaring at the walls. “A code that’s as good as worthless without anyone to check your actions!” 

“Wait-” 

“Absolutely fucking not, you’ve taken enough time already.” And with that, Stiles jammed the scalpel into the electrical box he’d just found, causing sparks to shower from the equipment above Chris. He flung himself out of the way, stumbling with the new weight of a single wing at his back, giving Stiles enough time to rush the door and fling the lock open. 

“By the way, your sister? She doesn’t give a shit about your code. If you’re going to go find anyone tonight, it should be her.” 

And Stiles was gone. 

* * *

“WAIT!” Stiles screamed, throwing himself out of the Porsche as Jackson prepared to throw the molotov cocktail. 

Peter was a murderer, and a manipulator, but he was also Stiles’ soulmate, and he couldn’t just watch him die.

“Don’t! He’s my soulmate!” he yelled, hurrying around the car, not quite within arms-length of Peter’s hulking shifted form. The single wing extended behind him like a flag, the pure white of it making it look like a surrender when Stiles knew Peter would do anything but. 

“He’s _what?”_ two voices yelled at once. 

Stiles looked from Scott to Chris, and decided Chris’ question held significantly more weight. 

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed. Chris’ mouth hung open for a moment. 

“No,” he denied, shaking his head too, as if that would change the truth of it. Stiles tried to hold on to his patience, remembering that Chris had just discovered his sister was a murderous whack-job. A dead murderous whack-job. A dead murderous whack-job who had killed their soulmate’s entire family, and then been killed by said soulmate. 

Christ. 

Stiles noticed Peter shrinking slightly out of the corner of his eye, shifting back to a more human form as he calmed slightly. Derek growled near them. 

“Stiles, get out of the way,” he spit out, claws curled toward Peter. Stiles scoffed.

“So you can kill him? I literally just told you he’s my soulmate. No.” 

“Stiles.” Stiles startled at the rough voice coming from Peter. His face still held some of the shift, and his claws were at the ready. “Why do you have two wings?” 

Stiles looked at Chris, at his very visible single black wing, and then back at Peter. The same denial living on Chris’ face grew on Peter’s. 

“No,” he growled out, echoing Chris. 

“Yes,” Stiles emphasized, beginning to lose patience. Peter lost slightly more of his Alpha shape, bringing a clawless hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Everyone in the clearing relaxed a little. 

Eventually, Peter straightened up and turned to Derek. 

“Take your shot.” 

“Oh for fucks-” Stiles couldn’t finish the sentence as Derek rushed around him, attacking Peter. Peter immediately threw him, taking the fight away from Stiles. 

Of course Peter would rather give his nephew a chance to kill him than deal with having a hunter for a soulmate. _Of course._

After a few minutes of crashing and snarls, Chris came to stand awkwardly next to Stiles, watching the fight as well. 

“I can give you a ride,” he offered. 

“Maybe after I know whether we’re going to need a funeral for our other soulmate,” Stiles said dismissively. There was another awkward beat of silence, and then-

“You know, it’s not a bad life, being a hunter.” 

“It wouldn’t be a bad life being a werewolf either,” Stiles shot back. “That’s what Peter offered.” Stiles could see outrage on Chris’ face, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a loud crack of bone breaking, and a whine as Derek finally submitted. Stiles clapped once and rubbed his hands together.

“Great! Congratulations on not dying Peter. Thanks for the offer of a ride, Chris. Fuck both of you, I’m leaving.” 

And with that, Stiles once again got into the driver’s seat of Jackson’s Porsche and tore out of there. 

Peter and Chris stared after him for a moment before glancing at each other, and then immediately looking away. 

The clearing was completely silent, until-

“Can… can _I_ get a ride?” asked Jackson.

* * *

“I am giving you space.” 

Stiles looked up from his homework to see his dad standing in the doorway. 

“O… kay?” Stiles said, confused. John pointed at Stiles’ wings. 

“I am giving you the space, and you can tell me about your soulmates when you are comfortable,” John emphasized. Stiles squinted. 

“Are you reciting a parenting book at me right now?” 

“It’s a good parenting book,” John protested, and then sighed. “I just… I didn’t get it at the time, but I just want you to know that if you have two soulmates… that’s okay.” 

“I know it’s okay,” Stiles said, eyes narrowed. 

“Then why won’t you tell me about them?” John asked, a hint of a whine in his voice. It was Stiles’ turn to sigh. 

“It’s not just that there’s two of them. They’re- it’s complicated. And I really, really don’t think they’re ready. For any of it. Honestly, I’m not sure I am either. So yeah. Space is probably the best policy right now.”

John pursed his lips and then nodded. 

“I’m off to work then. I’ll see you in the morning, alright kiddo?”

“Yeah Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Stiles listened to his dad clamber down the stairs and lock the door behind himself. The rumble of the cruiser rose up through his propped open window, and he paused to try adjusting his wings as the sound of the car faded away. 

He was getting better at moving them around. He felt more like a stumbling toddler than a newborn with no muscle control. His back barely ached at all anymore, and he spared another thought of gratitude that his wings were light. 

The iridescence still caught his eye in a distracting way, though, and even worse when they refracted light.

“They’re beautiful.” 

Stiles startled, nearly flailing out of his chair. 

“What the fuck Peter!” he hissed. “Haven’t you heard of a door?” 

Peter casually stepped down from the window ledge, inviting himself into Stiles’ room. 

“Why would I use a door when your window was already open?” he asked, wandering over to Stiles’ bookshelf to look at the titles, and giving Stiles a clear view of his back. 

“You still haven’t talked to Chris,” Stiles said flatly, eyeing the lonely wing tucked into his back. 

“I have no reason to talk to the hunter,” Peter said, turning to look at Stiles. “Just because he’s _your_ other soulmate doesn’t mean he’s _mine.”_

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. 

“You’re kidding me right?”

“No fate in the universe could possibly be so cruel to give me an Argent for a soulmate,” Peter spat out before smoothing his expression. _“You_ on the other hand, have proven yourself to be clever and capable. Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

“Your ‘offer’? The one you tried to con me into by insinuating there’s some kind of magical extra special bonus soulbond that comes with being a werewolf?” Stiles clarified sharply. 

Peter smiled unrepentantly. 

“Yes, that one.” 

Stiles stared at him, unimpressed. 

“You would make a wonderful wolf, sweetheart.” Peter approached him silently, laying a light hand on his wing. Stiles had to fight back a shiver as their potential bond surged again. 

“Feel my sincerity,” Peter urged. “You would be so-”

“Back away from him, Hale.” 

Peter and Stiles’ attention snapped to the doorway, Christopher standing there rigidly, fists clenched. 

Stiles flicked his wing away from the distraction of Peter’s touch, and said, “Okay, I _know_ that door was locked.”

Chris just tucked a lockpick back into his pocket. 

“I heard Hale in here. I had to make sure you were safe.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“I’m fine. I’m not sure about you two though. I can’t believe you haven’t even touched yet.”

Chris looked at Peter with daggers in his eyes. 

“He killed my sister-”

“She killed my entire family-” Peter hissed back. 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles interrupted, “but you two can’t even touch each other for a second to confirm whether or not you’re soulmates. Less than a second! A millisecond! Even if you decide you hate each other and can’t stand to be soulbonded, don’t you at least want your other god damn wing?!” He folded his arms and glared at them. 

The weight of his glare was a heavy thing, as Peter and Chris quickly came to realize. Heavier and heavier with every second, in fact. And he did have a point. 

Inch by inch, they moved closer to each other, both reaching out a single pointer finger slowly. 

Too slow for Stiles, apparently. 

“Is this a re-enactment of ‘The Creation of Adam’? Is that why you aren’t touching? Is that what’s happening here?” 

Peter and Chris both shot irritated looks at Stiles’ raised eyebrows, and finally surged forward to touch each other. 

Just for a millisecond. There and apart. 

Stiles was right. That’s all it took. 

Peter lurched back slightly as the weight on his other shoulder balanced out, Chris doing the same but with more fluttering. 

As soon as they regained their balance, they looked at each other in shock. 

Stiles smiled. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice sincere. There was a beat of silence, and then- “Now get out of my room, I have homework.” 

They stared back at Stiles, shock and surprise still evident on their faces. Stiles waited a moment before realizing that he was going to have to clarify. 

“I’m sixteen, dudes. You’re both in your thirties. Now that you know you’re soulmates, sort out your shit. I know there’s a lot there, but whatever you need to do, you have two years to do it. I’m not bonding with anyone before I even have a high school degree.” 

Stiles turned around and focused on his homework again. He threw up two fingers behind himself in farewell. 

“Bye. Text me.”


End file.
